


angel on fire

by mortalcipher (paperthinn)



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Airports, Boyfriends, Fluff, Human Bill Cipher, M/M, Rain, Reunions, feeling like hayley williams rn, see: dead horse, sorry i dropped off the earth for like three months
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:42:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27781696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperthinn/pseuds/mortalcipher
Summary: ‘I’m standing in the ashes of who I used to be,and I’m faded away; you know, I used to be on fire.’Halsey - Hopeless Fountain Kingdom (Track 14)
Relationships: Bill Cipher/Ford Pines
Kudos: 6





	angel on fire

**Author's Note:**

> hey yall :)) i'm on a new pseud !!
> 
> guess who totally didnt drop off the face of the planet! me! i have like three drafts all titled the same thing so... a while ago, i started watching gravity falls because i vaguely remembered it from years ago and i just finished it for the second time last night so here's a quick project to apologize for my ungodly absence.

He’s waiting.

Normally, Bill wouldn’t like to be kept waiting, but he’s decided he’ll make an exception. There are voices around him, conversations he’s decided to tune out. Sometimes, he’ll tune  _ in,  _ listening intently to a daughter talk excitingly to the mother she hasn’t seen in months; maybe it’s a man who’s about to be reunited with his dog, who was left at his parent’s house while he flew off for some business trip. Most times, though, Bill listens to the storm outside  — it’s raining cats and dogs, as someone might say. The rain hitting the large glass windows is distracting.

He hates the airport.

It’s crowded here, people walking past him as Bill stands waiting for his  _ lover.  _ It’s a strange word for a demon-become-human to think, let alone say. It’s less childish than  _ boyfriend  _ or  _ girlfriend  _ though, so he’ll take it. He looks down at his watch, watching as one of the hands ticks by the second. 2:12 in the morning.  _ Axolotl,  _ Bill curses to himself, shifting on his feet.  _ How much longer is he going to take?  _ He leans over a bit, rising on his tiptoes to see over the ocean of people looking to get out of the hell that is the airport. No sign of who he’s waiting for.

“Are you kidding me?” Bill mutters, glancing around. He’d been assured the flight would have landed by two, and it’s fifteen minutes past that time now. Bill has never been the patient type; he’s not used to waiting for things, and he’s definitely not used to the way his human vessel’s feet ache. He’s been standing here for forty-five minutes. He’s a bit tired, too, although he’d drunk an entire can of monster before he took off. Bill considers sitting down, dragging his feet against the scuffed tile that lines the floor under him.

He used to float above this ground, limbs relaxed. He used to see everything, too; Bill had never considered that one day he might be restrained to a six-foot-one meat sack. If he had, maybe he would have enjoyed being in his natural form a lot more than he did.  _ Nonsense,  _ Bill snorts, his mouth curling into a small smile. Human emotions have greatly affected him — he thinks he might do something if he could go back, but he wouldn't. Not in another trillion years, anyway.

"What are you smiling about?" Bill's eyes snap into focus, training on the face in front of him. He doesn't resist the excited grin washing over his face, taking in the familiar features of his boyfriend. He looks tired. Bill steps forward, stretching out his skinny arms, wrapping them tightly around wide shoulders.

_ "Stanford,"  _ Bill sighs, body slumping into the warmth. It is a bit cold, he thinks, brushing his fingers through the hair at the base of Ford's neck. Ford chuckles, low in his chest, dragging Bill closer with both six-fingered hands on his hips.

"Bill," Stanford hums. He turns his head into Bill's neck, breathing him in, then pulls away with a small smile. "It's been a little while," Bill clicks his tongue, squinting his eyes. Ford's always been a bit taller than him. Six-foot-three and wide, all muscles. It makes Bill look like a twig in comparison. He's mostly skin and bones.

"'s not my fault you decided you didn't want to come home for the holidays. You're the one that wanted to go for a doctorate," Bill huffs, feeling more than a bit tired now. Ford looks more awake than him, probably feels that way too — it baffles Bill sometimes because he's new to human life and he hasn't quite figured out how to not feel burdened by the weight of sleepiness after a while of resisting sleep. Ford has it down; there's no doubt he's been up for days already. Bill hasn't seen Stanford in person for two years (those of which were excruciating, by the way,) and the man looks the same as he's always been.

Ford gives him a look, slipping an arm around Bill's waist and turning him around so they can walk together. "If you wanted me home, I would have come home." Ford's other hand is clenched around the handle of his suitcase — Bill can hear the wheels of it rolling across the airport floor. They're near the door; it reminds him that it's still storming outside, but Bill's never minded a bit of rain — he welcomes it, really.

"Alright, golden boy," Ford glares, "Let's just go home. I've got a warm bed calling my name." The hand around his waist tightens, dragging Bill in close enough that Ford is practically carrying him against his side. Bill settles into it easily enough, deciding it's the closest to floating as he'll get, and closes his eye.  _ Plural,  _ Bill reminds himself, shaking off the unfamiliarity of having two of them instead of just one. He's been in a physical body for six years, yet he never gets used to it. How long will it be until he's gotten the hang of everything? Another century? He's luckily he's got some things mastered; how to walk normally, for one, even if he doesn't prefer it.

When he opens his eyes next, he's staring through a wet windshield at the Mystery Shack. There's a warm hand on his shoulder, a gentle voice coaxing him awake. When had he fallen asleep? He's never been good at telling when he gets  _ too  _ exhausted. Bill blinks a few times, shaking out of his sleepy state. He looks at Ford, and Ford smiles at him, hair and clothes soaked. The rain is beating down on him. It's loud and it's coming down so hard that it's disorienting when Bill finally takes a hand offered to him and stands up from his seat in the car.

"Was I asleep that whole time?" Bill asks, turning his head so he's closer to Ford's ear. Ford nods, blinking at him, and there's no use in running toward the Shack because they're already soaked. Bill makes his way to the old, beaten down porch and watches through heavy rain as Ford carries his suitcase through the mess that is the yard.  _ Of course he chose to live in the middle of the forest _ , Bill grimaces, staring down at the mess of mud. Ford takes his hand, dragging him indoors, and the warmth hits Bill in the face as soon as he's inside —  _ "Axolotl,"  _ he curses, not very happy about how cold his human body can get.

"I'll get us towels," Ford says, but Bill stops him, wiping a hand across his forehead to keep the rainwater from reaching his eyes. "I was doing laundry earlier. I haven't gotten to towels yet," Bill says, and slides his shoes off. His socks are soaked, which is a gross feeling, so he slips them off as well. Ford hums, looking around for something they can dry off with.  _ We could use the dirty ones,  _ Bill thinks for a moment,  _ it's not like we don't need showers anyway. _

"I've got some spare ones in the study. C'mon," Ford drops his suitcase, rolls his shoulders, and moves to unlock the door to the old gift shop. It's mainly used for storage now, since Stanley and Soos took a trip out to California to spend more time with the twins.  _ The study,  _ Bill snorts, wondering how much dust must have piled on them. He hasn't been into the study in the six years he's been in a human body, although he remembers it slightly. He'd only really seen it through Stanford's eyes, or built in his mindscape like a safe space. 

He's slightly anxious in the elevator ride down. It's unfamiliar territory, who can blame him? Ford pulls out a key (there's a little triangle at the end of it, which piques Bill's interest,) and unlocks the door. It pushes open with a loud creaking noise. It's dark in the expanse of the study, but Ford flicks a lightswitch and the room becomes (only slightly) illuminated. Bill steps in, humming under his breath as he takes in his surroundings. It's cleaner, more organized than he remembers — there's the absence of the old memory device across the room (Ford told him about the machine and Dipper's  _ mishap),  _ for one. The desk looks cleaner; there's three empty spaces on a small bookshelf, probably Ford's old journals.

Bill looks up.

"Jeez, sixer. I knew you were obsessed but I didn't know it was this bad," Bill calls, startling when Ford is standing right behind him. Bill stares up at the tapestries, sighing through his nose at the sight of his old form. He was intimidating back then, six years ago when he was fighting for world domination. 

"I  _ worshipped  _ you," Ford says, and he sounds vaguely amused. Bill flushes a bit. He'd had people  _ kill  _ in his name, but it's a little different now, hearing something like that from his boyfriend. "My muse," Ford mutters. Something warm wraps around Bill's shoulders, a towel. It smells vaguely of dust but surprisingly, it's not  _ that  _ bad. Bill had expected worse — like something worn down, maybe. 

Bill leans back, pressed against Ford's chest; he stops looking at the tapestries. They've grown a lot, Bill's a bit happy to realize. "I need a shower," Ford says.

Bill follows him to the bathroom.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> follow me -
> 
> twt. MORTALCIPHER, SUDDENDSIRE  
> insta. paperthnn


End file.
